


6 Months Later

by eliospiano



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Dating, M/M, Pining, armie is stupid, idk what this is, probably some angst if you squint, timmys sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:00:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16683796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliospiano/pseuds/eliospiano
Summary: After a fight where Timmy confesses his feelings to Armie, the two see each other again 6 months later at an awards ceremony after party...





	6 Months Later

**Author's Note:**

> I found this in the depths of my notes from back when they were doing awards for CMBYN and I just felt like posting it. That’s all. Enjoy your day/night!!! :)

Armie-  
If there’s anything i’ve learned about him, it’s that the way he lets people in so easily, the way you can see what he’s thinking through his thick skull, he can shut that off in seconds.   
“Timmy”, I can remember myself saying, “What are you thinking?”  
I’d never had to ask that before. He was always so easy to understand, like a machine playing on repeat he would let me in; now, nothing.  
“Does it matter?”, he turned away from me, wrapping the blanket more tightly around his small frame. The blanket had enveloped him, making him look even younger.   
“Of course it matters”, I’d uttered, thoroughly frustrated.   
“Everything you say matters...at least to me”, I plead with him.  
His eyes flickered to me in an almost ominous way. I realized in that moment how little I knew about him from this standpoint, how when he wasn’t letting me in there was no way for me to break through the cement walls he built up. I didn’t like this version of him.   
“You know...”, he finally spoke up before sliding his tongue over his teeth.  
“You say these things, these little but deeply meaningful things and I just-“, he stopped himself. I almost begged him to keep going, but stopped myself, knowing he was in charge right now and would do what he wanted.   
“I just- can’t- even comprehend the things that you say sometimes, it’s like one second you’re touching me and laughing and making me feel like i’m so fucking safe and other times you throw shit out like ‘this is almost over, ya know’ and feed me that ‘good things can’t last forever’ bullshit, and I hate it, okay?”, he got on his feet and let the blanket fall to the couch, anger and pain radiating off of him like a nearly exploded volcano.  
“I hate that I want you in ways I can’t even describe because I never knew I could feel like that, I hate that when I wake up the first thing I think of is you and the first thing you think of is her”, his rage had me on the edge of losing all control, had me biting my tongue to keep from telling him everything. How I can’t sleep right because all I imagine is his body next to mine. How I breathe better when he’s around. He had walked closer to me then, so much hatred laced in his voice that I would have shivered had my blood not been boiling.   
“I hate that you made me love you because I fucking know I can’t even have you, and sometimes”, he paused, out of breath from shouting his confession, so close to me now that if I let myself move forward even a little our chests would be touching,  
“sometimes I hate that we even met.” His mouth was inches from mine and he looked at me as if daring me to kiss him right then.  
I felt my throat close up, could even feel the air in my lungs disappearing at his honesty. It was everything I’d fucking wanted and I couldn’t do anything about it. I had a family. My hands were tied. So, with every single ounce of willpower I could gather, I looked anywhere but him and said,  
“I love you T. But I can’t love you like that, I’m sorry”, and I booked it the fuck out of there. I still wish he’d seen through my facade. 

That was 6 months ago, and until now, we haven’t spoken.   
When he walks into the room of the party I hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place, he doesn’t see me. I, on the balcony above him, take in his appearance, and feel the stirring of something awakening in my stomach that I’d forgotten I could feel. The curve of his body, the ringlet of each curl, the smile he wore that wasn’t genuine, wasn’t my smile, the one that I knew. It felt as if I was Elio looking at Oliver from above as he stepped out of the car on that first day he arrived, except this is all too familiar.   
I force myself to breathe normally, and try to focus on the drink in my hand before it slips from my fingertips.   
When he finally does notice me, I wait for his reaction expecting either a scowl or a smile. Instead what I receive is a glassy-eyed glance as he looks up, straight through me, not at me. Like i’m a complete stranger. Like he’d never seen me a day in his life. This hurts much worse than a scowl ever would have.   
I watch him as he saunters his way over to the bar, stopping to hug a few people before talking to the tender and placing his order. He stands alone, and I knock back the remainder of the too-weak bourbon in my cup, trying to find enough courage to talk to him. For some reason I feel like a school boy again, working up the nerve to talk to a girl, and I hate that.   
Eventually I make my way down stairs, my eyes never leaving his back. I’m about 10 feet away, my chest pounding and he turns around, catches me walking towards him. There’s that cool, nonchalant, almost passive gaze he sets upon me, still no recognition at all in his features. He leans back against the bar; I march forward in a sudden urge to make a point: two can play at this game.  
I stand directly to the right of him and flag down the bartender.   
“Hey, can I get a bourbon, neat. Thanks man.” The bartender sets off to fill my order and I find it so odd for a moment, how close we are standing yet not speaking, acting as if we don’t know each other. If we were in another life where we hadn’t met yet, this would be the perfect way to meet. I could’ve said something cheesy and maybe he would have laughed. But, unfortunately those weren't the circumstances.   
The man hands me my drink and I thank him before swiveling around, nervous again to talk to him, and not wanting to play this game anymore. My eyes take me around the room once more surveying the guests before I hear him finally pipe up,  
“Armie”, he says as if it’s the first time he’s noticed me since we’ve been here. To say this encounter was already strange would be an understatement.   
“Timmy”, I nod.  
He moves towards me, quickly wrapping his thin limbs around my shoulders in a hug, but he drops them as quickly as they were placed. I only get to touch him along his spine for a moment before he’s gone again, but his hands continue to burn into my shoulder blades after he’s removed them. I notice that he doesn’t shiver at my touch the way he once did.  
“How are you?”, I ask, and suddenly wish I wouldn’t have come in the first place. I attempt to keep the emotion I feel out of my voice but some seeps through and I know my words sound pleading. I hate myself for attempting small talk with someone I used to know so well.   
“I’m fine, doing fine. How are you?”, he replies, and I can tell he’s just being polite, probably being civil in case anyone is looking. At this point I don’t know if he’s blocked me out from seeing how he’s feeling or if he’s really this robotic. The bags under his eyes mean he hasn’t been sleeping much.   
“I’ve been ok, not amazing, but you know how that goes.”  
The awkward tension between us is so palpable I can taste it in the thickness of our words.  
“Yea I do”, he lets out a deep breath like he’s been holding it in, taps the side of his glass, looks anywhere but at me.  
“I should probably go find my date”, he says finally. I try my best to keep a straight face as if his words didn’t just punch me in the gut.   
“Oh. You’re seeing someone?”  
“Sort of. I guess. We’ve gone out a few times”, he runs a hand through his hair, and suddenly his walls have lowered a little, I can see just how tired he is.   
“Anyway,” he catches himself and the walls go back up,  
“I should go find her. Uhm. Maybe I’ll see you later?”, It comes out as if he hopes he doesn’t see me, but I nod anyhow.  
Funny how he seems fine and I’ve been dying inside for the last 6 months. 

 

Timmy-   
I knew he’d be there. I’d tried my hardest to okay with it. I had a plan: if he didn’t approach me, I’d ignore him completely. If he did, I’d put everything I have into being civil. Over the last six months I’ve slowly and painfully made my way to being okay without him. But now that I can finally go a full day without breaking down, a part of me hopes I don’t see him at all. A part of me still regrets knowing him. I also still don’t sleep most nights, but i’m getting there.   
I’d talked to my parents, I’d talked to a shrink, hell, I’d even gone on two dates with a girl Pauline had introduced me to. I was bringing her with me tonight, and although she wasn’t someone I could see myself with forever, she made a nice companion.   
“You ready?”, I asked her when I picked her up.   
“Absolutely”, she’d responded, all light eyed and makeup covered and beautiful. I didn’t deserve her kindness and generosity when I knew very well I couldn’t fall in love with her. And though I would never admit it to myself, I knew it was because she wasn’t him.   
“You look gorgeous”, I tell her honestly with a swift kiss to the cheek.  
“Let’s go”, she squealed.   
When we got to the party, I introduced her to a few people, and the group became easily smitten with her. I whispered to her that I was going to grab a drink, and set off.   
The lavishly decorated room is coated in deep red and gold, the two colors colliding to make intricate designs along the floors and over the walls. A gold staircase leads up to what I assume is a ballroom, and as my eyes travel along the balcony they catch sight of the tallest and hottest man in the room. My heart fucking jolts, but with my guard up and ready for something like this I take my eyes off of him, remembering my plan to ignore him unless approached.   
My head and heart battle, one hoping he comes over and the other praying he doesn’t. I’m so nervous about the whole thing that I order a panic drink, something I’ve heard people say in movies. It’s fruity, and not at all my cup of tea, but I drink it anyways, and turn to place my back against the bar. I act like i’m surveying the room when all I can really see is that he’s approaching in my peripheral vision.  
“Hey can I get a Bourbon, neat. Thanks man.”  
That booming, deep voice is one i’d nearly forgotten, and hearing it all over again brings up old memories that I’d hoped would stay under wraps, locked in the attic of my memories.   
Again I stare ahead impassively, but am quickly losing all will to ignore him . After a minute my act completely diminishes.  
“Armie”, I have to say, because there are so many things I want to say but can’t and it’s insane for us to pretend like we don’t know each other.   
“Timmy”, is his bland response. Hearing him say my name is what I dreamed about in the first two months, and I find myself going to envelop him in a hug before I catch myself. My arms only get around him for a second before I pull away, but his immediate warmth makes me want to hug him over and over again.   
“How are you?” he asks.  
HOW DO YOU THINK I AM? is what I want to scream. I won’t though, I refuse to let him see how much he messed me up.   
“I’m doing fine, just fine. How are you?” I genuinely want to know, but I also don’t. Why am I like this?  
“I’ve been ok, it hasn’t been amazing but you know how that goes.”  
I want to know why he hasn’t been amazing but I also want him to suffer the way I have even though i’m not the reason he hasn’t been amazing.   
I’m aware that this conversation must be awkward for him considering how we left our friendship. Or how I ruined it, I guess.   
“Yea, I do”, I sigh. I know exactly how that is, asshole.   
I suddenly remember that my date is probably looking for me.  
“I should probably go find my date”, I say, but’s it’s not a malicious statement. Not that it would have any reaction if it was, he has no reason to care, he doesn’t love me.   
And I don’t love him, I tell my self for the hundredth time in the last hour.   
“Oh. You’re seeing someone?”, his question is curious, and he swallows. Is he uncomfortable? I hope he is.   
“Sort of. I guess. We’ve gone out a few times”, I say, and for a second I lose control of my guard. I start thinking about her, and how he isn’t her and she isn’t him, but I snap myself out of it quickly.   
“Anyway, I should go find her”, I start to walk away even though my heart doesn’t want me to,  
“Maybe i’ll see you later?”  
I really hope I do.


End file.
